


sharp

by thorkidumpster



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Dirty Talk, Inappropriate Humor, Investigations, Lies, M/M, Manipulation, Manipulative Loki, Rough Sex, Thor Is Not Stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 12:44:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12631335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorkidumpster/pseuds/thorkidumpster
Summary: thor needs only one word from loki to close his investigation, but loki must have his payment first.





	sharp

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thorvaenn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorvaenn/gifts).



> this is a commission fic written for the lovely diana (thorduna) :) thank you to sexualthorientation and fourletterwordsstartingwithl for helping me with this.

* * *

 

The market is Thor's favorite part of town. It stands timeless, unchanging, even as the relentless march of industry sweeps up the little village he spent is summers in as a boy. At the dockyard, large fishing boats bellow and belch black smoke, slumbering like beasts, content after devouring the small, wooden dinghies they had replaced. Even the rumble of automobiles had reached this slice of Thor's boyhood, but the town's roads were yet too narrow for the autos to reach the market.

And so the market sits, lovely, unchanging.

Merchants call out their wares, _Fresh fish! Salmon! Shellfish!_ and _Cheese, milk, churned butter!_. There is a yeasty smell to the market, a tantalizing whiff of baking bread and _life_. So many people push around Thor, women jostling to find the best deals, children laughing and chasing their dogs' tails while the men chase tails of a different kind.

There is a charm, to be sure.

But while Thor might have lazed away the long days of summer here as a youth, he has a far different purpose now. And the crush of people serves him well—no one can easily track one man in a crowd. The noise keeps words from falling into unwelcome ears.

Thor winds his way to a certain stall, wary of making a beeline. Instead, he buys some spices from one vendor and fruit from another. A lovely pair of gloves. Pays a coin to have his shoes shined. Only well long after he first came to the market does Thor stop at Loki's stall.

Fishhooks and short, sharp knives are scattered across the display. A tangle of net is in his hands, and those long fingers carefully pick away knots and weave the fabric into place. If he had been born in the city, like Thor, Loki might have made a wonderful pianist.

“Laufeyson,” Thor says, tipping his head. He lifts a fishhook and examines the needled point.

Loki grunts, setting aside his web of net. “You haven't seen Hilde, have you?”

“Hilde?” Thor glances out at the crowd, recalling a cheerful and plump girl. “No. Why? Is she missing?”

“Unfortunately,” Loki replies, gloomy, “no.”

“Ah. Is her belly swollen with a little black haired bastard, then?”

Loki sniffs. The town has a fair few of the scamps around, and there's more, no doubt, birthed to fine ladies who chanced a visit and lost their wits to a handsome smile and well-spun story.

Thor cannot honestly say he has not fallen victim, either.

“A hook for you, then, Inspector?” Loki says, neatly sidestepping the question.

“No.” Thor tosses the hook back down; it clatters onto the sunbleached wood of the stall. “Something else. I have a pocketknife I need sharpened, and the blacksmith would have both my full purse and my balls for it.”

“Ah,” Loki purrs, a satisfied gleam in his eyes. “I can give you a far fairer price. Give it here, now.”

Reaching into his pocket, Thor hands over a small flip knife, used more to whittling during long, boring stakeouts than for any real measure of defense. Loki snatches it up without even glancing down.

Thor adjusts his cloak. “I've rented a room at The Rat's Cheese. You may return it there and the tavernkeeper will ensure I have it.”

“The Rat's Cheese... how low-brow,” Loki remarks, sounding very nearly put out. “Very well. I shall have it sharpened tonight.”

Giving Loki a tight smile, Thor dips his chin and leaves the stall. He makes a few more small purchases before he exits the market area.

* * *

  
The town has a darker secret.

The loosely regulated docks have bred a seedy underbelly, rife with crime and corruption. Police officers patrolling the docks turn a blind eye, their palms slicked with bloody money and the whispers of advancement.

When rot infects the roots of a tree, hacking away at the branches will do nothing. Thor has to lance this blight at its source. Besides, he's not foolish enough to believe that he can take down the politicians, comfortably feeding money into the system, nor the upper-class that are content to have their dark bidding carried out by rough hands.

Thor paces his rented room as the final streaks of dying sun paint stripes across the creaking floor. Loki will be here any moment with a sharp knife, an even sharper smile, and the information Thor needs.

He's so close—so close to making an arrest of the man who runs the underbelly. A full-on raid, if Thor can manage, and a purging of the police force. One swift, decisive stroke, and it all hangs on the words locked behind Loki's lips.

There's a soft tap on the door and Thor jerks around, hand on his pistol. “Who's there?”

“I,” Loki says, and Thor exhales. “Here to deliver a knife as promised.”

Crossing the room in a few sure strides, Thor unlatches the door and pulls it open. An ungodly wail of hinges signals the reveal of Loki's clever face. “I thought I said to deliver it to the innkeeper,” Thor says, loud enough to carry down the hall and into any listening ears.

“He would've stolen it,” Loki dismisses. He pushes his way into the room. “Come now, my payment.”

Thor shuts the door, his heart hammering in his chest. When he turns, Loki is holding out the knife with a flat palm, and Thor grabs it before stuffing it unceremoniously into his pocket. “Tell me,” Thor demands in a whisper.

But Loki smiles, looking not unlike a fox preparing to pounce on a hare. “My payment first,” he says in a sing-song voice, low.

“Loki, I don't have time—”

“Of course you do,” Loki chuckles. He places a hand on Thor's chest, and he can feel the heat of it burning through the thick wool of his coat and vest. “Let's not kid ourselves.”

Thor makes to protest, but there is very little left to say, not after Loki steps closer and kisses him, slow and filthy, with barely a warning before a tongue slides between his lips.

“But if you're so rushed for time... we could play a game.”

Thor growls and kisses him again, harder, nipping at the sly tongue when it tries to sneak back in. “You are the devil.”

Loki dips his head to suck on the bobbing apple of Thor's throat. “No game then? Pity. I had the most delightful thought—to make you strip for every piece of information and beg me to suck your fat cock before I told you what you _really_ want to know.”

God above, does Thor love Loki's filthy common mouth. The pretty noble boys Thor fucks are all soft sighs and innuendos. One longs for the straight-forwardness of a rough, dirty fuck.

“Filthy,” Thor gasps, winding his hand into Loki's long, loose hair.

Loki tongue is hot and wet on his throat, a burning promise left on slicked skin. “Doth my manner offend?” He chides, teasing, and all the more vicious for it.

Thor doesn't reply; just tips his head back and allows Loki to lavish his throat like some bloodthirsty fiend. Clever fingers undo the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt, and Thor snaps from his stupor to remove the offending cloth, having learned from experience that Loki is not above tearing at it like Thor were some bodiced damsel.

Pleased, Loki runs his fingers down the planes of Thor's chest, over the curves and dips of his muscles, mapping out the shape of him anew. “How is it possible,” Loki groans, deep in his throat, “that there is more of you every time I lay eyes on you?”

“As long as it pleases you,” Thor snipes, “I suppose there's no other purpose for it.”

“None whatsoever,” Loki says, eyes glittering with mischief. He loops his fingers under the waist band of Thor's pants and bites his lip. With a firm hand, he pushes Thor back two or three steps, towards the bed, towards his 'reward' for the valuable information he's collected.

Minx.

Thor bats away the hand. “Let me see you.”

Loki smirks, slow, dangerous. “Is that how you seduce all your high fashion foppish boys?” But his fingers play on his buttons, unthreading them and leaving his shirt to hang open on his chest.

“No,” Thor laughs. “I buy them dinner.” Loki's skin is warm under his hands, smooth and hairless.

“Oh? Lamb dinner?”

“With wine.” Thor kisses Loki's open mouth, the slick heat of it sending pulses to his cock. “Silver dining utensils.”

Loki smiles against his lips and nips his tongue. “Extravagant.”

“I woo them with good conversation and light jokes.”

Their feet tangle as they shuffle backwards as one, until Thor's calves has hit the bed and he falls onto the mattress. Above him, Loki tilts his head.

“And after?” Loki asks, crawling onto the bed to straddle Thor's waist. His round ass presses right against the tent in Thor's trousers, and the breath catches in his chest.

“After,” Thor groans. “I accompany them home, and accept their gracious offer for evening tea inside.”

“A formality, of course,” Loki says. He bends, laving his tongue across Thor's left nipple, teasing it between his teeth when it tightens to a hard bud.

“Of course.” Thor fumbles his hands across the expanse of Loki's back, feeling the shift of muscle and bone, the odd bumps from old scars and the poxy divots that smatter random places. He arcs his fingers under Loki's ribs, then dips down to undo Loki's pants. “And then I kiss them...”

“ _Kiss_.” The word is mere of hiss of air. Loki ceases his relentless attention to Thor's chest, though he pauses, a small tilt to his lips at how red he's kissed the nipple. Loki rises and shucks off his pants, shameless, before making quick work of Thor's trousers. “So softly, I imagine. So delicate. Do they shiver when you kiss them? Do they mewl for you, Inspector?”

_They do,_ but the words are trapped in his throat. Loki straddles him once more, grinding his ass, already wet and slippery, down onto Thor's cock. The thoughts of Loki stretching himself, slicking himself up in preparation for this makes Thor's breath hitch. “You—”

Loki leans in, letting the rim of his hole catch on Thor's hard cock and stealing all thoughts from his brain. The head pops in with only a slight hitch in Loki's breath, and he sinks down, down, greedy and taking every filthy centimeter of it. The sound he makes when he bottoms out, so wanton and indecent, drives Thor insane every time.

“And when you fuck them,” Loki whispers, working his ass on Thor's cock, rough, each undulation stretching and contracting the tight muscles on his abdomen like a writhing snake, “do you take them gently? Do you whisper to them, pet their hair, while they moan under you, so overpowered?”

“Loki...” Thor groans. The sweet, gripping heat on his cock is relentless, slick and delicious and so fucking _wet_. He catches Loki's hips, driving him down harder, each bounce sending Loki's hair swaying.

“An innocent fucking.” Loki grins down at him with all his teeth, looking entirely too pleased with himself. A fine sheen of sweat gathers at the base of his throat, chasing the red blush spilling down his chest. “Nothing like this.”

“No.” Because that much is true—all those boys with their trembling thighs and doe eyes, their pouting lips and sighs muffled into lacy pillows, who tug the blankets over themselves to avoid allowing Thor to see more than a few bare centimeters of epidermis. Those modest boys, averting their eyes when Thor tugs his pants back on, even as their sore assholes leak his cum.

Loki places his calloused hands on Thor's forearms as if to steady himself. “Only I can give you this, Thor.”

Yes, yes, _yes._

Loki rides his cock as though his life depends on it, as though he would wither and die without it. He's so beautiful, this rough man with his filthy mouth and sly, knowing smirk—beautiful and desperate, which only makes him even more fetching. Loki tosses his head back, the long, lean line of his body like an arrow pointing to his leaking, hard cock.

Thor takes it in hand, loving how his actions, like ripples on a pond, affect his own. When he squeezes, just so—ah! Loki's hole tightens around him, milking him. When he strokes, long and slow, Loki's rhythm falters and he rolls his hips in time. But when Thor quickens his pace to watch the little splatters of pre-cum burst from the tip, Loki gasps and slams his ass down, over and over, the slapping filling the tiny room.

Above him, Loki tenses, his hole like a vice now, and semen pours out, each spurt punctuated by a pulse around Thor's cock. Over and over, Loki paints his chest with it, an enthusiastic bit smacking him in the chin.

Shaking, Loki slows, then slumps, panting from his orgasm.

But Thor is not finished with him. With a growl he throws Loki onto the bed, forcing him onto his belly. Loki struggles, but it's entirely staged; his ass shakes and sways and bumps Thor's cock, presenting a perfect target. Thor covers Loki's body with his own, smearing the cum onto his back, and fucks into his greedy hole.

Hands pinned by his head and crushed under Thor's weight, there's little Loki can do but lay there and take it. Thor pounds into him, unrepentant, using him like he would never dare use anyone else.

Thor's balls contract and he can feel it—his orgasm cresting and crashing over him like a wave. He pumps Loki full with his cum, forces it deep, buried, as though he might leave Loki in the same state Loki himself as left so many others. Fat and pregnant would look good on him, Thor thinks.

“ _God,_ ” Loki says as Thor stills. His wrists flex and Thor releases them, savagely pleased when he sees the red left behind that will birth fresh bruises. “Clearly I've neglected you.”

Thor grunts and rolls over onto the bed, enjoying the pleasant tingles still zipping through his body. The lantern burns low, and Loki leans over to blow the flame out.

The darkness is comforting, and the ruckus of the patrons downstairs and the wharf are muted, lulling.

“Loki,” Thor mumbles, sleep half-clouding his thoughts. “The name, tell me.”

Loki glances back at him, his black sheet of hair falling, silent, around his pale shoulders. The light of the moon on his skin is ghostly, ethereal; his face is blurred from it, his expression lost save for the two dark eyebrows furrowed together. “In the morning. We have time.”

Thor extends his arm to offer a place at his side. “Then lay with me until then and creep out with the dawn.”

Silence hangs, then the rustle of sheets signals Loki's return to bed. He curls up warm and heavy against Thor's breast, head placed over the heart thumping its sluggish tattoo. Loki's breath is humid, and Thor finds comfort in the soft, intimate sounds of another body next to his.

Sleep finds him swiftly.

When Thor awakes the next morning, Loki has left, and there is a note on the bedside table.

_**For your investigation, the syndicate leader—**_ is written across the front and when Thor opens it, his heart stops. He stares, uncomprehending, at the single word scratched onto the paper.

_**Loki.** _

 

* * *

 


End file.
